The Shakespeare Tavern Playhouse in Atlanta recreates a snug modern-day version of the Globe Theatre. No – not a full-scale version of the 17th century building – but an urban entertainment space on Peachtree Street across from a downtown hospital.
“The small building to the left supplied food and ale at the theatre.[1][11]”
The original Globe Theatre could accommodate over 3,000 spectators, most seated, but many “groundlings” stood around the thrust stage that protruded into the audience.
However, in the Atlanta venue there are no groundlings – a main level and a semi-circular balcony provide seating for a mere 200 patrons. Unlike the original, the Atlanta “Globe” is a dinner venue. Not only are the standing spectators gone, the main floor has tables and chairs; the back of the theater is a cafeteria offering Shepherd’s Pie and similar dishes that might be recognizable to a Londoner 400 years ago. Yes, ale and wine are available. So, during the comedies, we can get rowdy.
And, although the spirit of a Shakespearean stage is maintained (no curtain, no microphone, a thrust stage…), the venue is an indoor playhouse (no natural light, no chance of rain…) that enables recorded music and complex lighting and stage effects.
The Front Row
Since there is no reserved seating in the dinner theater, the best approach is to arrive early, wait in line with your open-seating ticket (yes, wine is available during the wait), and quickly grab a table at the edge of the stage when admission begins.
Given the dynamic nature of players entering and exiting the main stage, a spectator at a front row table is apt to become part of the evening’s action. At a minimum, it creates an intimate involvement with the play.
2020 Dinner Theater
In the Year of the Pandemic, The Shakespeare Tavern Playhouse is closed. No more live theater. Instead, many of us gather in front of the large vertical rectangular stage in our own media room. And, we watch the spectacles: some comedies; mostly tragedies.
We may eat during the performances. We may also drink. We may laugh during the comedies; during the tragedies we may gnash our teeth. Or, cry – for the needless victims of the Pandemic. For the ongoing officially sanctioned racism, bullying, and incessant lying that extrude from the Offal Office.
We may recoil in horror each day at the Evening News, and also fear the long-term implications of Political Theater. Despite climate change having receded from the headlines, the full implications of the U.S. withdrawal from the Paris Climate Accords are becoming clear. And, as we begin to understand the dwindling work of the Environmental Protection Agency, the magnitude of the potential ecological tragedy for our grandchildren is heard rumbling offstage. It is the eerie quiet preceding the Sixth Extinction – more real than a Reality T.V. show.
Just as Othello was destroyed by the whispers of Iago, our tragedy may germinate in the soil of disinformation spread by power-hungry sociopaths who materialize within our personal home theaters.
Thanks to the legacy of The Mango Mussolini, we all share front row seats for the ultimate tragedy – the last act where everyone dies.
Best of Times, Worst of Times 